Happy Is The Bride That The Sun

Gather Ye Rose-buds While Ye May, Old Time Is Still A Flying: And This Same Flower That Smiles To Day, Tomorrow Will Be Dying.

I'll Write, Because I'll Give - You Critics Means To Live; For Should I Not Supply - The Cause, The Effect Would Die

Oft Have I Heard Both Youths And Virgins Say, Birds Chuse Their Mates And Couple Too This Day: But By Their Flight I Never Can Devine When I Shall Couple With My Valentine.

Learn This Of Me, Where'er Thy Lot Doth Fall, Short Lot, Or Not, To Be Content With All.

T Is The Will That Makes The Action Good Or Ill.